


I Read You For Some Kind Of Poem

by anotetofollow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress (Dragon Age), Angst, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Grey Wardens, Guilt, Lies, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: “Better find out from you than someone else.” Tanith stopped pacing, wrapped her arms around herself. “But six years isn’t so bad. That’s what, twenty-five years, give or take? Plenty of time.” There was more warmth in her smile than his tainted heart could handle.When Blackwall returns from Adamant the cracks begin to show.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Lavellan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	I Read You For Some Kind Of Poem

**Author's Note:**

> So can we pretend sweetly  
> Before the mystery ends?  
> I am a man with a heart that offends  
> With its lonely and greedy demands  
> There’s only a shadow of me; in a manner of speaking I'm dead ([x](https://open.spotify.com/track/2OBgZrayUVupeEtt1eu2V4))

Tanith travelled back before him. Once the rift had been sealed and the Wardens recruited, she and a small deputation rode back to Skyhold to explain the situation to Leliana and Josephine. Blackwall remained behind with the other soldiers, helping Cullen to clear the fortress and organise treatment for the wounded. He had not wanted to stay, but she had asked him to, and so he had. There were too many legitimate Wardens here, too many who might have known the man whose name he wore like armour, who would see through his lie as quick as blinking. He stayed with the Inquisition forces as often as he was able, head bowed and silent, the griffon-emblazoned plate he had arrived in swapped out for something less conspicuous.

It was hard work, miserable work. The desert was hot and dry and unforgiving, the wind offering no succour. Adamant was a ruin now, the once-impenetrable fortress crumbling and scarred. It would take the Wardens decades to recover from this. Foolish of him, but he grieved for them. He felt sorrow for this order he possessed no claim to. Many of the Inquisition soldiers were shocked that Tanith had chosen to take them in as allies after all they had done, but Blackwall could understand it. He knew the atrocities good men could commit of in the name of honour.

He watched them sometimes, the haggard remnants of a once-proud brotherhood. When he thought of Wardens he thought of Blackwall, the one who had come before him, and to see others wearing the crest was a strange thing. There were elves and dwarves among the humans, though not in so great a number, mages who ranked above soldiers, grizzled veterans and young recruits. An army in tattered patchwork. Blackwall wondered what would have happened to him if his mentor had not been killed on the Storm Coast, if his Joining had gone ahead as planned. Would he have survived it? If so, would he have been one of those poor souls sacrificed for Erimond’s ritual, his throat cut in the name of progress? Would he have been among the troops the Inquisition had fought on the battlements, vainly holding against the final charge?

He pictured a path his life might have taken, one where he had become a footsoldier in Clarel’s army. Where had met Tanith as an enemy, to die by her hand. The thought of it made him shiver.

When Cullen requested that Blackwall go with the first battalion back to Skyhold he was relieved. Being around the Wardens had brought too much of the guilt bubbling back to the surface, a constant reminder of his lie. He needed to be back with Tanith, to find oblivion in her arms again. For all of his resistance, all of his protest, surrendering to her had been the easiest thing in the world. After their first night together he had expected to wake wretched and sick with self-loathing, but the moment she had turned over to smile at him any semblance of regret had fled. He was tangled in her, consumed by her, unable to think about the future and all its potential catastrophes. When he was with her there was nothing else. And so it was easy to forget, to keep up the pretence, to sit in the tavern with his arm around her shoulders as though nothing was wrong, as though she were just an ordinary woman and he an ordinary man. It was a fatalistic thing, he knew, as much as the endless wallowing had been, but he could not find it in himself to care any longer. Not when he had her laughter, her affection, the warmth of her body beside him at night.

It was a hard journey back. Many of the men were wounded, slowing their pace to a crawl, and the terrain and the weather were both working against them. When the battalion finally crossed the bridge to Skyhold, almost two weeks later, the waning moon was hanging high overhead. The night watchmen saluted as they raised the portcullis, and the soldiers scattered off towards the barracks, the healers, the tavern. Blackwall went to her.

He entered her quarters through the servants’ entrance, as he always did, and found Tanith sitting on the rug by the fire. She had not heard him come in and for a moment he stood in the doorway, watching her. Her feet were bare, trousers cuffed at the knee and shirt untucked, hair loose and curling around her shoulders. There was something almost sad about the way she stared into the fire.

“Tanith.”

She glanced up, ears swivelling slightly in his direction. When their eyes met a tired smile broke across her face, and she pushed herself up to standing. As she crossed the room to him Blackwall noticed she was favouring her right leg. She had been injured in the last battle, he remembered, though if it was bad enough to cause a limp she had not let on at the time.

“Creators, I’m glad you’re home.” She pulled him close to her, burying her face in the crook of his neck. It was common for Tanith to pounce on him when they were reunited after a period apart, but something about this was different. She clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as though she were afraid to let him go. When she finally he did he saw that her eyes were puffy from crying.

He frowned at her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she said, though her small smile did not quite reach her eyes. “How are things at Adamant?”

“Still a mess, or they were when I left,” he said. “Though Cullen seems to have everything in hand. How did your advisors take the news?”

Tanith shrugged. “It is what it is. Leliana seemed pleased, though I don’t think Josephine is looking forward to explaining our new alliance to the court.”

“Oh, fuck the court.”

“My thoughts exactly.” She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him, then walked over to sit on the edge of the bed.

When she patted the spot beside her he obliged, glad to take the weight off his feet. It had been a long journey. Were it not for her he would have been sleeping at the earliest opportunity, but some things were more important than rest.

Tanith still didn’t seem herself. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes far away as she stared at a point off in the distance. It was a rare expression to see on her face, this exhaustion, this melancholy. Blackwall took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissed her knuckles, her palm, her wrist. She stirred a little, turned to smile at him.

“You don’t seem alright, Tan.”

She shook her head. “Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“Talk to me.”

Tanith sighed, looked back to the wall again. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke. “How long have you been a Warden?”

It was not the question he had been expecting. His first reaction was utter panic, a sense that this was her way of saying she knew, that while he was away she had discovered his deception, and this was how she would expose it. Once the first flush of terror had passed Blackwall realised how foolish this was. If Tanith knew the truth she wouldn’t have looked at him with such tenderness when he walked into the room that night. No, this was something else.

He had already allowed the silence to stretch too long. Joining the Grey Wardens was not an event a man would easily forget. A vague answer to her question would be more suspicious than an outright lie, and so he must lie. He thought back to when the first Blackwall had recruited him, when he would have joined the order had fate not intervened.

“Six years.”

A small, tight sound escaped Tanith’s throat as she slumped forward, covering her mouth with her hands. It seemed as though she might start weeping, but when she looked up at him her face was slack with relief.

“Oh, enasal,” she breathed. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” Blackwall was not certain how to answer her. “Were you expecting longer?”

Tanith nodded, swallowing back tears. “I was. I thought...” She stood suddenly, pacing in front of him. “I was sure it would be.”

“Why does it matter.”

“I spoke to Leliana,” she said quietly. “While you were away. She travelled with the Wardens during the Fifth Blight, did you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumours to that effect.” It was one of the reasons he avoided the spymaster wherever possible, though not the most important.

Tanith stared at the floor as she spoke. “We talked about the Calling. Thirty years she said, before the sickness takes you. Before you go to the Deep Roads to die. Creators, I didn’t _know_.”

Maker, _he_ didn’t know. He’d heard of the Calling, knew vaguely what it entailed, but wasn’t aware that it cut your life so short. “It didn’t seem worth mentioning.”

“Really?” A line formed between her brows as she looked at him. “You didn’t think I’d want to know such a thing?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Oh, how easily the lies slipped out once they started. It was like putting on a well-worn pair of shoes, and he hated himself for how well they fit.

“Better find out from you than someone else.” Tanith stopped pacing, wrapped her arms around herself. “But six years isn’t so bad. That’s what, twenty-five years, give or take? Plenty of time.” There was more warmth in her smile than his tainted heart could handle.

“Time for what?” he asked.

“Life,” she said. “This. Us.”

It took his breath for a moment. He had been so caught up in the present of her, it had never occurred to him to think that she might be looking to the future. Treacherous hope rose in his chest, though he knew full well that they could no more have twenty years together than catch the moon from the sky.

“Maker, Tan, it hasn’t been a month since we were attacked by a dragon and trapped in the Fade. At this rate we’ll be lucky if we last the season.”

A poor deflection, but it worked. Tanith laughed, and for a moment that familiar brightness was back in her eyes. Blackwall hoped that it would remain there, that the conversation would be forgotten and they could move on, but before long her face fell again.

“We talked for a long time, Leliana and I,” she said. “I think I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“Why you were so reluctant to be with me, at first.” Tanith raked a hand through her hair. “We have stories of the Wardens in the clan, but they’re just children’s tales. I didn’t realise how… significant it was. Seeing those men at Adamant, seeing what they were willing to do—”

“Not all Wardens are like Clarel’s people,” he said reflexively. What did he know of such things? Perhaps they were. Perhaps Blackwall had been an anomaly, an honourable man amongst malefactors. Not a comforting thought.

“I know,” she said. “But even still. The commitment it must take to do something like that, to give your life so completely…” Tanith trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. “I didn’t realise. I never _asked_ you. No wonder you tried to keep away from me. It must be impossible, to think about a life beyond the order. And I just pushed anyway. I never even _thought_ about what it must be like from your side.” There was a cold anger in her face, directed not at him but inwards. Her jaw was set, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

“Tanith,” he said. “It wasn’t… you haven’t done anything wrong.” A pathetic reply.

“I have,” she sighed. Sitting next to him again, she hugged one knee to her chest and rested her chin upon it. “You needn’t spare my feelings. I’ve been selfish. But I understand now, or I’m starting to. I’m so sorry, emma lath.”

The way she looked at him then. Dark eyes wide, ears flat against her head in supplication, brow creased and pleading. There was such self-loathing in it, such guilt, such a desperate need for forgiveness, that Blackwall may as well have been looking in a mirror. This was how he was supposed to feel, not her. Never her.

He felt something split, just a little. A hairline crack in a dam, a trickle of water seeping through that would soon cause a flood. The months of heady denial were finally coming to an end. How absurd, to think that he could pretend indefinitely. To think that the benediction of her flesh would be enough to keep the darkness at bay. He destroyed everything he touched, and now Tanith was suffering for it. How selfish to have touched her at all.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said. “Please, Tanith, don’t think like that. I don’t regret this. Not a minute of it. If I wasn’t honest with you, the blame lies with me.” He tried to place a kernel of truth in the words, to give her the absolution she deserved.

Tanith’s face softened in gratitude. She turned her body towards him, reached out to run her fingers through his hair. Blackwall leaned into the touch, sighing as she cupped his cheek.

“What you did at Adamant.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “The way you spoke to the Wardens… we wouldn’t have won them without you.” The slightest quirk at the corners of her mouth. “I’d long suspected you had the capacity for heroism. It was nice to have it confirmed.”

“Compared to you I did nothing,” he said, meaning it.

“No.” Tanith shook her head decisively. “No, not this time. I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of you.” There was such adoration in the way she looked at him, such trust. He could hardly stand it.

“You give me too much credit.”

“You don’t give yourself enough. It breaks my heart.”

 _If you think I’ve broken your heart now, my love._ “I’m not worthy of this, Tanith.”

“Yes, you are.” There was a hard edge to her voice, a fierceness. “And I swear to my gods and yours, I will tell you every day until you believe it.”

It was as though there was a battle raging inside him, the disgust he felt for himself warring with the joy she brought him. The latter side had been winning out for a while now, but now it was faltering. All she had resting on her shoulders, every challenge and responsibility and threat she had to contend with, and he had allowed his own demons to invade her life as well. He was poisoning her, slowly, and she didn’t even know it.

Tanith must have seen the fraught look on his face. She leaned him and kissed him, as soft as spring rain. “Blackwall,” she said. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

There was not a shred of hesitation in her voice as she spoke, as though she had never been more certain of anything in her life. He had never felt so worthless. He had never been so happy. “I’m not sure I do.”

“Well. I do.” She shrugged. “Do with that what you will.” The slightest flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

Of course he loved her. He loved her more than sunlight, more than breathing. He knew it first on the day the mountain fell, in those awful hours when he thought her dead and buried, had known it every day since, still felt that knowing to his bones every time she touched him. He could give her honesty in this, if nothing else. “I love you too, Tan.”

There could be nothing in the world as beautiful as the smile that broke across her face then. “Good,” she said. “You better had.” Then she was pulling him close, pressing her eager mouth to his, tugging at his shirt, laughing like birdsong, and once again it was easy to forget.

Tanith was uncharacteristically careful with him that night, her every movement a gentle thing. Blackwall knew why. It was her way of showing regret for her perceived selfishness, an apology written in soft touches and softer words. He wished that there was some way he could let her know how misplaced her guilt was, but he could not. Not without telling her the truth. And so he stayed quiet, let her be happy a while longer, telling himself all the while that it was a mercy.

Later he lay awake while Tanith slept soundly beside him. The cracks were growing larger, spidering out, threatening to give way. He had signed both of their lives away the moment he came to her quarters that first night, and now there was no way to undo it. She loved him. And in loving him had doomed them both.

Blackwall turned over and, touching the nape of her neck with his fingertip, lightly traced his true name on her freckled skin. It was not enough. But, for now, it was all that he could do.


End file.
